Crescent Moon at Dawn
by Maddy02
Summary: For those of us who need something to ease the sting of Claude's S-Support. The story of a separation. Three Houses, Golden Deer route


For the most part, it wasn't noticeable.

The Ashen Demon had earned her name through a stone-faced look that didn't break as she cut her enemies down; the Professor had been better, but you couldn't have called her gregarious –only slowly sharing herself with her students and comrades as prolonged exposure and the bonds of war drew them all tight to each other.

The mask of the Queen was thankfully more the Professor than the Demon, but still gave very little away.

For the most part, it wasn't noticeable. And to his shame, Lorenz had almost overlooked it entirely, except one night, a few days after the coronation, shortly before he was due to return home, he caught her on the star terrace gazing east.

Lorenz backed away silently, made his way directly to the chatelaine and commanded her to the kitchen with him to open the various pantries and tea caddies. He batted away any help to put the tray together, and would have boiled the water himself too if there wasn't always at least one kettle on the go in the monastery.

Everyone loved the Leicester Cortania, though for his part if he must give any blend the edge Lorenz preferred Bergamot –or perhaps, somewhat vainly, his own Rose blend; the very best of House Gloucester- but, he was nothing if not an exemplary host; ever attentive to his guest's desires and preferences. Although at this moment he rather wished he wasn't.

It physically pained him to choose Almyran Pine.

Still, it was his privilege as he handed her the cup and saucer and let her take that first inhale, to see the moment she let down her guard. It was all in the eyes and the brow; and for the most part it wasn't noticeable.

But once you knew to look, you could see the sadness and yearning. It became apparent that something was _missing_.

*.*

Byleth was not a great orator. Not that she couldn't speak well; a mercenary must be able to give orders clearly even in the heat of battle and ensure clarity in the terms of their contract. Then as a Professor she had discovered a gift in the art of instruction, both individually and to groups. (She had also learnt the art of Teatime Conversation, in long, _long_, _**long**_, sessions with Lorenz and Ferdinand –and sometimes both together.) Clear, precise and brief were her hallmarks. Her natural inclinations had taught her early on to use silence as both sword and shield, unnerving opponents and protecting herself from giving anything away –it was a difficult habit to overcome, and on the battlefield, whether martial or political, she reverted to type. She might be able to hold forth in a classroom to give a lecture of _facts _and _strategy_, but rallying her people around a matter of _politics_ was another matter entirely.

Margrave Edmund was the opposite, his speeches were edifying and enlightening. He held his listeners enthralled by tone of voice and choice of word and expected to educate Byleth into the same.

It was _exhausting_.

The saving grace was that Marianne always came with him and took much of the same instruction.

The downside to the grace was that Marianne would inevitably ask about the Church; about the Faith.

And, now that she had all the time in the world, unfettered access to Rhea, a list of questions as long as her arm and a further list of questions she imagined Claude would devise, Byleth was deliberately procrastinating on the topic.

She was the figurehead of a religion she had been brought up as all but a fugitive from, whilst simultaneously being the inheritor of the Progenitor Sothis' own power. She was the leader of a land that had believed the teachings of Saint Seiros (with various degrees of piety) for a thousand years and it was up to her to somehow lead these people to a new, inclusive, society without destroying the faith that they had fought for six years against the Empire to defend.

She would, sooner rather than later, have to ask the questions, face the answers and decide what she wanted to do about it all. But despite all of Seteth's encouragements and the questions that had been answered even before Nemesis attacked, she hadn't yet managed to call up the courage or the mind-set to ask for the full story. To learn why _her_. What had made _Byleth_ the choice for this "questionable experiment" –nor had she yet found the moment to admit to Rhea that the Sealed Forest was when she had _stopped_ talking almost daily to Sothis.

It was _exhausting_.

But she could not cower in silence and so summoned the Margrave as often as he could come.

*.*

Hammad was everything Claude could have hoped for. A third cousin of some sort, by way of a second or fifth wife of an uncle's brother-in-law, but given the way inheritance was settled in Almyra, as close to the throne as himself and better still; unusually cerebral for someone who had grown up fully immersed and, more importantly; _accepted_ in the Almyran culture.

He viewed Fódlan's Locket not as a challenge but more like the cover of a book.

Had he intended to take the throne, Hammad was exactly the sort of person Claude would want as his regent. The sort of person interested in culture, travel, trade. The sort of person he could work with across borders once he returned to Fódlan.

As it was however, he had a wife to get back to. Better to put Hammad **on** the throne. Luckily he had recent experience in such manoeuvrings.

His schemes began in earnest.

Now, if only he could convince his spymaster that he wanted to know how _Byleth was doing_, and not what the_ Queen of Fódlan was up to_.

*.*

Apparently the Queen's birthday was a matter of national importance. Or so her seneschal tried to tell her.

Her birthday had never really been an _event_ to her though, she hadn't ever had to consider her age as the company moved from job to job, battlefield to battlefield. Her birthday hadn't mattered as a mercenary; it was just another day. If she needed them, she got a new pair of boots. If they were in town and not camping, she chose the meal. Once she had passed some unknown threshold of acceptability, her father had taught her to hold her drink –but that had started after a particularly harsh battle. Very few mercenaries ever drank in _celebration_. Most sought oblivion.

Celebrating her birthday had mattered to her students at least –a pity they hadn't known the true date.

Although come to that; she still didn't _know_. Her father's journal narrowed it down significantly –but had that entry been written on the day of her birth? Or had that been the day he returned to the monastery from a mission and she had been born a few days prior? Although, given his writings, she suspected he would have refused to be moved any further from his wife than could reasonably be managed during her confinement. Another question to add to the still growing list for Rhea.

If Fódlan needed an extra day of celebration, why her birthday? The last day of the Verdant Rain Moon –the final defeat of Nemesis was surely more appropriate, being the dawning of their new era? That was what she finally convinced the seneschal, at any rate.

Her birthday had never mattered.

Not until the parcel arrived on the twentieth day of the Horsebow Moon.

(If she hadn't already **known**, from somewhere in the depths of her heart, then the fact that it was brought to her chambers by the only household servant to have come from Derdriu would have made her suspect a scheme.)

For three hours she resisted it.

For three hours she allowed herself to feel hurt, bitter, angry and resentful. On various occasions during the war Claude had been as open and _forthright_ as he was capable of being –with her at least; she had known his dream, his hopes, the world he wished to build. He had all but told her then that he would be crossing the Locket.

Not for a moment, not for the most infinitesimal speck of time since she had given him her heart had the thought crossed her wildest imaginings that _he wouldn't take her with him_!

For three hours she resisted.

But she knew better. The pair of them walked in step, even if their roads weren't physically adjoined.

She _knew_ what it was for Claude to trust anyone other than himself to rule over the dream he had worked towards since he had first learnt to consider himself "Other", "Outsider". She knew what it meant for him to put her here; to trust her to be the very foundation of his unreachable ambition, the anchor of his ludicrous pipedream. She knew the names he would have called himself, had he left without speaking, without hearing her answer.

He had given her his heart as well.

She untied the parcel, broke the seal on the enclosed letter, steeled herself to encounter his penmanship, and smiled on discovering he had actually taken the effort to produce a clean copy, ending it "with all that I am".

A thousand leagues or more away; and still he knew exactly what to say.

*.*

"Of late it seems all my schemes are come to naught" Claude lamented, somewhat theatrically but mostly honestly; gazing heavenward as the first stars of the evening came into view. Taking as unbiased a stance as he was capable of, he could admit that in only a few months he had made significant inroads into the various tribes, clans and merchant houses of the region. His royal connections had given him a start, his own intellect had provided the rest, putting the right merchants in the way of the right leaders at the right time, spinning rivals against each other instead of him and growing his cousin's already formidable power; but nothing had quite coalesced into the sort of hold they would need to take anyone over the Locket.

There was curiosity. There was interest in the trading opportunities with Fódlan. They enjoyed tales of the country and it's many wars and skirmishes.

But they would not follow him.

He was still an outsider. His ideals suspect. His support of his cousin looked on with suspicion. Taking his mother's name and being endowed with territory across the border hadn't helped matters. There was no getting away from it either; **everyone** in his hometown knew his Fódlan grandfather had claimed him. No subterfuge was _possible_ (even if it had been _advisable_).

He could feel the pull on his heart as though it was physically dragging him west. It would be so easy to slip away, to return to the inside of the bottle; leave it for someone else to smash open in another lifetime, and yet, and yet… his dream had always been bigger than Fódlan; it hadn't even _started _with Fódlan, not really, and he had left his love with the burden of half of it. How could he justify the months apart if he turned around now with nothing to show for it?

"Are you willing to take advice from someone who's been around a bit more than you have, kiddo?" asked his faithful shadow. Of course, by that point Claude was so ready to be out of his own head that he didn't even grumble at the diminutive and looked over eagerly. Nader barely even needed that much affirmation to continue "In about a week there's a festival three provinces over. Big archery competition. Go along and show them what you're made of; win yourself some renown."

It was a good idea, brilliant even. He knew how well his countrymen responded to martial prowess, and yet; "How did you find out about it? I've not had any word at all?"

Nader grinned "You've spent too long in Fódlan learning how to be all _noble, _kid. You might be doing well with the political types here, but if you really want to know what the people are talking about just now then you really ought to step foot into a pub. Same principle as getting me an' Lord Holst along" he added, approaching and rapping a knuckle chidingly against the boy's head "-apply it to yourself sometime."

*.*

From the start Byleth had made it clear that though Fódlan was unified, the cultures of each of her regions would be respected; she would not simply hand down judgement from on high, but visit the towns, the regions the leaders and the people. She would do all she could to ensure all voices were heard.

Choosing the Red Wolf Moon for her first tour had not been her wisest decision. The temperate climate at the monastery had spoiled her.

Fhirdiad was an awakening. Jeralt's Mercenaries had done a lot of work in the Kingdom, but rarely so far north; and never so late in the year. Clearly her Father had learnt that lesson already and failed to pass it on.

She made it clear that she wasn't fleeing to the warmth of Enbarr by passing through Derdriu first. Although it cost her something to step past the port and into the city proper without Claude at her side. She had only ever visited it with him briefly, most notably during the war to meet with "Nardel" ahead of the roundtable conference, and yet the stories and anecdotes he had told her in even those short hours seemed to permeate the air. Judith was an excellent hostess and still-

She made it clear she wasn't fleeing his absence by remaining exactly as long in the Aquatic Capital as she had in the frozen north, before heading west. The travel through the Grondor Field was solemn, and she stopped for a long moment at a stone that marked where Dimitri had fallen. A boar tusk had been laid atop it, but the snow had covered all tracks –Felix was not to be found.

She made it clear that she wasn't fleeing from her actions and orders during the war by speaking kindly of the chivalrous and dedicated young man she had known at the academy (and making a note to seek out any new intelligence of Dedue), before approaching the old capital. Here at last was progress; people from Brigid walked the streets and traded and bartered with those of the Alliance, the Kingdom, the Empire. It gave her hope that soon they might see similar scenes with people from Almyra, Sreng and eventually maybe even Dagda.

She made it clear that even though she had spent as little time in the throne room as possible she was not fleeing from ghosts by summoning Rhea on her return.

The time for answers had come.

*.*

A lifetime ago, or so it felt, before the question of who exactly was going to rule a unified Fódlan had truly been raised, while the messengers were still running from town to town telling of the defeat of Nemesis and they were somehow **already** mired in the headache of trying to stop houses Bergliez and Gloucester charging each other ridiculous tariffs for the use and protection of the Great Bridge of Myrddin, they had stepped away for a moment, just to have tea.

Guessing someone's age was not a topic Byleth might have expected to last so long between them, but suddenly she discovered she had questions of her own

"If we take 1159 as the year I was born, then it follows that I must be twenty-six, nearly twenty-seven now, as that is how long my body has existed."

"That _is_ the way aging works, yes."

"However, there are five years that I did not experience, and I am not convinced that time touched me while I was unaware; I didn't starve, although I had appetite enough once you put food in front of me. I lost no muscle definition, and could fight as well as ever when we chased down those thieves. To me it seemed that in one instant I was falling and in the next I was face-down in a river and you had grown a beard." Claude's eyes sparked in a manner that suggested he'd come back to the "face-down in a river" comment and he huffed a laugh, setting his cup aside to rest his elbows on the table and lean his chin on interlaced hands; he wasn't built on the same scale as Raphael, nor did he have Lorenz's height, but he was broad across the shoulders and easily dominated the small table.

"And so, because you didn't experience Leonie's first foray into femininity, or Marianne getting a decent night's sleep, you –what? Were in some sort of stasis, or outside of the world and time entirely? Like in the sealed forest?"

"Perhaps? I'm not certain what happened, but" she continued hastily, before he could delve too deeply into those theories as she knew he would, endlessly "my question is, assuming that I wasn't affected by time during those five years, despite my body existing; did I age? Is my age twenty-six, the length of time my body has existed, or twenty-one, the amount of time I have experienced? Which is correct?"

"Oh, well that one is easy" Claude winked "The correctness of each is relative and measured directly on whether I wish to claim, or avoid, seniority in any given moment."

"I should have known you'd come up with an answer like that." She concluded, and allowed herself to roll her eyes, much to his delight.

*.*

It was whispered, in pubs and cloisters across the land, the tale spread equally by the petty and the pious, that the argument between the Queen and Lady Rhea had lasted a full week, and was the reason the royal household was preparing to move from Garreg Mach to Derdriu.

There was about as much truth in the rumour as exaggeration.

She _had_ spent a week with Rhea, and they _had_, on a couple of occasions during that time, **both** raised their voices against the other.

If the argument had any impact on the move however, it was only to reconcile her to it.

The case was that Derdriu knew more about trade than Garreg Mach, Fhirdiad or Enbarr; within the city there were more merchants, accountants, tax inspectors and port authorities than the other cities could muster together. More living knowledge, from all corners of the land, than the rest of Fódlan would be able to produce in a decade. It was a better base for the land they wanted to build as the experience they would need to draw upon was already there.

All of which is to say; Claude had desired it and even in absentia his plans came to fruition.

Though she had no wish to rule a Theocracy, Byleth _was_ currently the head of both Church and State, and had assumed it would be easier to rule from Garreg Mach. Further, she was fond of the Monastery; the first permanent home she'd ever had.

The argument with Rhea had taught her that separation, when used as time and space to focus and gain perspective, could be a good thing.

From the point of view of Byleth, Queen, the teachings of Seiros were not nearly as defined as they needed to be –too easily worked around. Even killing and waging war were permissible "in the name of the Goddess" –it was little wonder the Western Church had taken their own interpretation of the Goddess's will. It was much more surprising that it had taken them, or anyone else, so long to do so.

From the point of view of Byleth, Leader of the Faith, knowing what she did now about Zanado and the Nabateans, Rhea's absolute intolerance of challenge and differing opinions was troubling. Rhea clearly had not been thinking rationally –perhaps she never had; but it was understandable. She had been little more than a child, who survived a bloody and gruesome genocide and coped with it by bending the world around her into attempts to revive her idolised mother -after revenge had failed to satiate her emptiness. It was a tragedy and Rhea had her pity, but Byleth knew that had Sothis herself laid down any commandments or tenants there would be a lot more singing, dancing and opportunities for Elders to chastise the youth and significantly less "smiting those who turn their blades against the heavens".

From the point of view of Byleth, Professor, a large number of her students had suffered for having crests; more specifically, suffered from having crests to use relics. Hanneman's research might, eventually, neutralise the advantage of those born with crests; but the relics could unbalance them again. As far as she was concerned the Church's focus on the crest bloodlines being "blessed" by the Goddess had only perpetuated the suffering.

From the point of view of Byleth, Ashen Demon, the relics themselves were distasteful. Powerful, absolutely, but even among the vilest brigands she had ever faced, save Nemesis himself, _some_ things were sacrosanct. Now that she understood where the relics had come from, she would always prefer to rely on her own strength and steel. She wondered how Rhea had justified it to herself, how she had ever come to the point of building the mythology of the relics into what it became.

From the point of view of Byleth, Claude's Wife, she seriously questioned if the Church could survive exposure to the philosophies of the world beyond Fódlan. It might be wise to begin fostering understanding _now_, to send an emissary to Brigid and renew efforts to locate Dedue. The Monastery certainly had enough space to share with other religions; to be a place for the inclusion, study and worship of all faiths. At the very least the library could afford to expand its offerings.

From the point of view of Byleth, Jeralt's Daughter, Rhea had held too tightly to "The Beginning". She hadn't advanced, hadn't moved on, hadn't accepted that eventually parents and children separated; by one means or another. Byleth understood, with frightening clarity, the desire for revenge, the desperate wish that everything could go back to how it had been _before_; but she _had_ let herself feel closure. She had accepted that the world kept moving; and that, that could be a comfort in itself.

The beginning was what you walked _away_ from. Rhea had only ever wished selfishly to return.

Yes, Byleth was reconciled to the move to Derdriu; perspective would help her figure out exactly what the Faith should be walking _toward –_and how they might get there.

*.*

"Is there nothing you want?" Claude asked the liaison, an honoured Elder who insisted on smoking something disturbingly acrid even in the confines of the tent "If you have no interest in Wyverns or trade passages across the plains and into Fódlan then-"

"We have interest in these things." The Elder interrupted, remarkably clear voiced for both the pipe still occupying his mouth and the amount he'd smoked even in just the few short minutes Claude had known him. "And you know that we have much to offer. But we will only deal with family."

Catching on, Claude's agile mind began racing through his allies in search of one who might suit the Princess of this tribe. Nader, standing with the Elder's retainer at the entrance to the tent was for once ahead of the kid, and did his best to keep his chuckles silent.

"Regretfully, none of the tribes I speak for have any son of age-"

"There is you." The Elder interrupted again and Nader at last gave in to heaving guffaws at the poleaxed look that crossed briefly over the kid's face.

Inside his glove, Claude's fingers tightened, bringing the reassuring pinch of silver against his palm "Happily, Elder one, I am already wed."

The Elder smacked his lips against the pipe and drew a great inhale. He held it a moment, reading in the young man's eyes that this was not a wife who would be set aside. He released the smoke in a long stream above their heads.

"Pity."

*.*

It was a novelty to be able to choose her own battlefield. And not only to choose it, but to have the time to prepare it as well. To begin the engagement entirely on her own terms, having laid her own traps in advance.

It wasn't _ideal _of course; Lorenz hadn't come and she was instead faced with the forbidding mien of Count Gloucester. She hadn't managed an opportunity to speak to Sylvain before the meeting either, but she was confident of his support without additional coaching. The majority of nobles summoned had also attended the Officers Academy at some time or other, so strictly speaking it wasn't _home advantage_, but the cardinal's room would be unfamiliar enough to most to be unsettling.

Every chair but her own was occupied when she entered to begin the meeting and every chair scraped back so they might all stand for her.

She rather missed the days of the Academy where formality had been deliberately brushed aside. But even the pageantry was something she was learning to turn to her own advantage. Still, she didn't keep them standing longer than comfortable to prove a point. She was still Byleth; clear, precise and _brief_.

As brief as she could be in this case.

She opened by telling them all the history of Zanado and the desecration of Nemesis as she knew it.

Then she asked them to allow the Relics to be interred in the Holy Tomb, alongside the Sword of the Creator.

*.*

A lifetime ago, or so it felt, she had been a new Professor, trying to win the respect of students her own age. Her father had been right to be concerned that being thrown in with a bunch of "noble brats" might be too much for her; but he should perhaps have widened the pool to "brats" in general. For Byleth, learning to read people as _allies to be nurtured_ and not _the foe in front of her, _was a sharp learning curve.

She kept having to re-tailor her approach for each student; which wasn't bad for the individual sessions, but the curriculum did require certain general standards and accomplishments from all of them.

Lysithea appeared to be working herself into an early grave (and how apropos _that_ thought turned out to be), Marianne _would not_ participate in class discussion, Lorenz was an adequate student but kept allowing his "noble obligations" to interfere, Hilda put the least effort she could get away with into anything, Raphael neglected any task that wasn't physical, Ignatz would back down immediately from any debate, Leonie vacillated between resenting and admiring her instruction and Claude had twice manoeuvred her into waiving an assignment so he could spend more time on pursuits that weren't strictly academic –not to the church at any rate.

It was inevitable, really, that under the pressure to have them succeed, with the constant interactions, time not just in the classroom but also in the heat of battle, that _something_ would give.

It turned out to be _her_.

She hadn't even realised it was happening until they rescued Flayn; when Claude pointed out that she was smiling, and kept bringing up her (reassuring) humanity with a wink thereafter.

She realised that she was comfortable with the students; they were _hers_ in a way that no other people ever had been. The mask had slipped or faded –the Ashen Demon had taken a step back; silence wasn't _needed _as shield or sword. She began to express herself.

And as she did they _listened. _Finally, she began to find the words to round out their rough edges, to push them forwards into the people they _could_ be -even when she told them what they didn't want to hear.

"Work assignments for next week are on the bulletin; we're on Hunting, Kitchen and Greenhouse duty, check your days. Claude and Raphael please stay behind, everyone else is dismissed." The majority of the class trooped out, sending looks of curiosity or sympathy to those who remained. Being asked to stay generally meant one of two things; something was wrong or extra work. Sometimes both.

"So Teach, what can we do for you?" Claude asked as they approached her desk, projecting an easy and unaffected air; hands laced behind his head, practiced smile at the ready. Wisely, Raphael let him lead.

"Tomorrow afternoon, Professor Hanneman is offering tutorials on essay writing. I expect you both to attend."

"Aw, c'mon Teach, tomorrow is supposed to be our day to rest."

"Indeed, which is why I know you're both available." Something that was certainly _not _acquiescence glittered in his eyes, but she turned her attention to his classmate "Raphael, you would benefit from additional help in structuring your answers. You understand a lot more of the material than you think you do, learning to put order to your thoughts should help you with answering the written material. It's a useful skill to pick up now in any case; when you're a knight you are likely to be required to send reports to your liege from any local."

"If you say so Professor, I'll just have to get up early tomorrow to get my full training session in!" As simply as that, Raphael was brought on-board and her attention returned to the House Leader.

"Claude, your last essay on cavalry tactics was exceptional. But when each set of footnotes take over half the page and contain footnotes of their own it is long past time to take a clean sheet and restructure. Please consider how valuable the time and quick action of the person receiving your future missives may be." That seemed to catch him; she could _almost_ see the thoughts tumbling through his head as he calculated the value of efficiency in easily enacted orders without having to pass through a scribe "Also, if Professor Hanneman doesn't touch on it himself, please ask Ignatz or Hilda to show you how to properly cut a quill; I'd like to avoid such catastrophes as the ink ocean on page seven, and the lesser lakes of pages three through twelve."

It was hardly high humour. It wasn't even a joke, but it was the sort of light, bantering comment she wouldn't have known how to make three months ago. Claude responded to it after the same fashion, charming smile back in place and something much warmer, almost _fond_, behind his eyes.

"Alright, Teach," he concluded "I can afford a couple of hours to save you from the _terror_ of blotted paper."

*.*

As she had expected there was something of an outburst at her request. Even though there were only ten relics between something like fifty to sixty noble houses, they had been a cornerstone of the nobility since-

Well, since the nobility.

And here she was asking the nobility to give them up.

The noise of debate swirled around her, and she tracked the themes through various sub-groups about the table; the lords who had significant military affairs were largely against the notion (although she hadn't been able to place Sylvain's voice yet) while those who were the most pious were largely in favour. Count Gloucester was absolutely silent –it was his favourite power play she had learnt; he would only speak when everyone else had finished, and quietly enough that you had to _listen_ to him, as though all the rest was preamble to **his **thoughts.

How had he and Claude ever survived each other?

It was less time than she had expected before the trap she'd prepared was sprung. She also hadn't expected it to be Viscount Kleiman who sprung it, and made a note to figure out why the Old Kingdom noble was testing her.

"What does the, ah, Duke, think of this?" -Nobody quite knew how to address Claude. They had pledged themselves to each other before her coronation; but he hadn't shown up to be coroneted with her, nor announced as consort, nor did the majority understand exactly where he _was_, so the nobles continued to use his highest known title until it could be cleared up. Byleth was (somewhat pettily) leaving that entirely for _Claude_ to clear up himself. "Will he so easily surrender Failnaught?"

She didn't smile; even though Kleiman had practically done her work for her, but she felt the rush of a scheme successfully enacted as she reached calmly behind the high back of her chair to pull the legendary bow forward and lay it out across the table in front of her, drawing with it a still hush across the room.

"My Husband has no need of a crutch."

If the story of Zanado had been a plea to the pious, then here was a challenge to the militant. It was met by a moment of perfect silence, interrupted by a sharp bark of laughter and the thud of boots and mail as Sylvain vaulted over the table to the space between, Lance of Ruin held loose in one hand as he advanced up the room wearing a grin as though a girl he fancied had given him a white rose garland.

"Neither does Gautier" He announced as he reached the top of the room, practically throwing the lance down alongside Failnaught. "What is one lance on a border the length of ours? Let the dead rest; we will hold the north as we always have, and trust in her Majesty should we ever need aid."

He bowed deeply before her, and as he rose mouthed a quick "thank you" when no-one else might see. Byleth allowed a genuine smile to cross her face in response before nodding his dismissal and focusing her attention back to reading the room.

It seemed like the majority were won over.

Now they need only discuss logistics.

Unfortunately, that was the part likely to take weeks.

*.*

The reconstruction of Remire village was the only project Byleth had unabashedly allowed herself to have a personal investment in since her coronation. All other matters; reparations, other reconstructions, policy, land disputes and settlements etcetera, she viewed first as Queen and only then through the lens of her other roles and aspects if the matter wasn't clear cut.

Remire was the other way round. She received updates frequently from Leonie and Mercedes (and no better representatives of her own duality could there have been; one there for personal reasons, the other pure charity) and as soon as it was complete she visited it herself in full state to commemorate the memorial that had been built in honour of those who had perished over six years previously.

Right at the centre of the village, where Solon had revealed himself; the stone stood in loving remembrance of those he had looked down on as mere beasts. (It pleased her duality that it both honoured them and spited him, if only subtly)

"I've done a pretty good job here; wouldn't you say?" Leonie pressed, later that evening after all the pomp had been done away with "I chased off thieves, made sure the supplies got through –kept you well informed, rounded up the workforce… Overall a pretty exemplary job really." Byleth nodded, watching Leonie carefully from the corner of her eye "So, all that being the case, you won't mind paying off my tab."

It was just such a thing as Jeralt would say (and he had, on occasion, used similar lines when sending his daughter to settle with the local tavern-keeps on his behalf –usually a year or more after he had created the debt, on the company's return to the area) that it startled a laugh, short though it was, from her for the first time in longer than she cared to remember.

Leonie looked smug, and Mercedes watched fondly; though the letter from Ingrid that had been written at the Silver Maiden was burning a hole in her pocket…

*.*

"What do you mean _your wife doesn't know where you are!?_"

"Oh, she _knows. _I just didn't **tell** her."

"Why, in heavens name, not?"

"Well, **you** made me swear not to tell anyone in Fódlan about my heritage."

Claude watched his Mother's mouth work silently as she tried to formulate a response to that, all the while he had a growing feeling of satisfaction that he was getting away with something he shouldn't be. In plain sight. In front of his _Mother._

It was a heady sensation.

"Claude, my darling boy, are you insane?"

"Quite probably, Mama" he laughed "Although, if you would release me from that particular oath it would make future negotiations with Fódlan _much_ smoother."

*.*

The opportunity to choose her battlefield was one thing, but Byleth was also swiftly learning to choose not to fight battles she didn't have to.

There were… _moments_, when she understood Edelgard's resolve to purge everything in the fires of war and start anew –and Rhea's determination to cut out dissension ruthlessly to keep the status quo, but she had had other councillors. She had chosen the path of learning and cooperation.

She just had to keep reminding herself that Count Gloucester would pass his duties over to Lorenz soon enough and _she would not have to deal with him forever._

She could set him aside, which reduced her current headache but didn't solve it. The latest dilemma came down to convincing Hanneman to work with the resources he already had;

Ingrid had taken it upon herself to scour the Faerghus region in search of any others like Solon and Kronya –Agarthans who had taken someone's appearance and replaced them. She had uncovered a concerning report about a Holy Woman, who's personality had suddenly suffered a drastic change over a decade ago. Alarmingly, Ingrid hadn't been able to find a trace of her, despite the lady's high profile, both before and during the war.

She had found Annette though, who was searching for Gilbert, last seen at the Battle of Grondor, and had found traces of both the Knight and Dedue heading towards Duscur. Apparently Felix had stumbled upon her as well and was gladly lending his sword arm to the hunt.

Byleth was more than happy to let them carry on. Everything they were trying to accomplish would be a boon to her in some way or other; and if they were heading to Duscur then perhaps they would also uncover whatever it was that had Viscount Kleiman acting so oddly.

Yes, Byleth could have been perfectly happy and not suffering any headache at all, except that she'd mentioned the circumstance to Hanneman, who immediately insisted she do all she could to convince Annette to return to the Monastery or to Fhirdiad to assist his research, and hadn't stopped talking since.

"…progress made with Miss Marianne and Miss Lysithea's crests -just think, with the extra hands I might finally be able to start on the Shambhala excavations! Just considering the possibilities of all we could uncover, why it…"

It was odd, though. Generally, she was able to follow, and even enjoy Hanneman's research for much longer; certainly she'd never suffered a headache from it –nor even from Count Gloucester for that matter.

Hanneman's voice seemed to be coming from further away, and then in one moment of perfect vertigo she felt her heart _lurch_, before all went dark.

*.*

A heartbeat ago, or so it seemed he had had _a good day_.

Any day that featured a long ride was generally a good day, but to have the opportunity during a full blown war elevated it to something of an _occasion_. Granted, he would have preferred to be riding purely for the sake of riding than to get to a roundtable conference where he'd have to convince Count Gloucester to overlook the trick he'd played on him to get to the Great Bridge, but the company more than made up for that.

"Wait" he called to her, as they slowed to a canter over some difficult terrain "you _have_ been to Derdriu; we took out those pirates masquerading as the Almyran Navy, remember?"

"Do you? After the fight I recall asking my responsible House Leader to see to it that the students were patched up and fed while Alois dealt with the Merchant's Association. Shamir and I stayed in the port to assist with the clean-up. I spent almost three hours dredging a wyvern out of the main shipping lane and in return received an extensive lesson in colourful sailor's phrases, but I didn't step into the city proper."

"You mean, the sort of phrase that might actually make Lorenz faint?"

"Worse than any mercenaries I'd ever worked with at any rate. –Including my Father."

He chuckled a little at that "Well, we don't really have time for a grand tour, but I'll make certain you see some of the better views, my Friend. Derdriu is really something to behold."

"I look forward to it" She'd answered, before spurring her steed on to show him her heels and giving him a good race of it.

He'd won nonetheless, and for his prize he asked her to close her eyes and let him guide her to what would become her first view of the city. Byleth had raised an eyebrow at that, but submitted easily enough; closing her eyes even before taking his arm in a show of trust that was more flattering than it really had any right to be.

Her expression too, when she opened her eyes, and the fact that she _had_ any expression at all, he took as a compliment both to the splendour of Derdriu and his own good taste.

They made their brief visit to Nader, or rather "Nardel", and as they left to get to the roundtable conference he discovered how dangerous that strange charm of hers could be to a man with secrets. They were descending a stair down to a walkway at water-level to cut back to the expansive port stables (the bridges, walkways and gondolas of Derdriu were no place for a horse) when she began; "Judith was right."

"Hm? About what?"

"Nardel is rather handsome."

He stopped abruptly halfway down the steps as she continued past because; What? No? Not possible. This was a jest. Had to be. Then again the "sleeping for five years" thing hadn't been. Could this really-

"I wonder if all Almyran men age so well."

Suddenly the world made sense again; she was fishing. Teasing, yes, but fishing for information, or possibly confirmation. Well, _that_ was a game he could match her in.

"There must be some sort of magic afoot." He answered catching up to her in a couple of quick bounds "There is absolutely **no** other possible explanation for two such discerning women as yourself and Judith to share _that_ opinion. Perhaps that's the real reason the Locket was closed up; it had nothing to do with invasions at all, it was just to stop the mass exodus of enthralled Fódlan women chasing after Almyran men."

She shook her head, and he considered it his win, until she came back with a full-on frontal assault;

"You know, **you** always say things such as "My hometown", "My homeland", "The place where I grew up" but you've never actually given any _names_."

"Haven't I?" He hedged

"Well, you may have mentioned Fódlan's Locket enough times for me to be fairly certain your family don't hail from Albenia. I've not ruled Morfis out yet though."

Claude smiled; she had baited the hook, cast the line and all but told him she already knew the answer, but she was still giving him room to talk around it. That at least- No, even without an excuse, _she_ deserved as much of the truth as he could give her.

"When I first came here, I promised my parents I wouldn't tell **anyone** where I'd come from. My Mother didn't exactly have Grandfather's _blessing_ to go in the first place. Most of the reasons for the secrecy are gone now, but, well, not all of them, and a promise is a promise."

"So it is" she conceded, and he _knew_, without any further discussion, that that would be it; she wouldn't push him for confirmation, would wait for him to make the revelations when he could. Even if she had already figured out all of the answers.

They turned a corner and it was Byleth's turn to stop suddenly, her eyes grown round and almost luminous in the light reflecting off the water. Claude grinned; the floating gardens tended to have that effect on first time visitors, and with a wink he launched himself back into playing the charming host.

"Ah, my Friend, don't be deceived by the beguiling appearance. The gardens are the most dangerous part of the city. Many a person has been innocently admiring the blooms, only to suddenly find themselves stepping off the path into a drenching."

"Are you speaking from experience?"

"Teach!" he exclaimed, dramatically clutching a hand over his heart "How could you suspect such a thing? Have you not marked my manly grace and poise and –pffft, yeah ok, ok. But I'll have you know that the second time was deliberate!"

She laughed.

It was a small thing. Quiet and barely twitching her shoulders –over too quickly, but he could only feel pride. He'd done that.

They were yet to face the roundtable, but even so he could already conclude that this would be a day, a memory, to be cherished.

*.*

Claude paced.

The pieces on his board were coming together. He had a purpose, he had a plan, he had allies.

His spymaster had just informed him of the attempted assassination of the Queen of Fódlan.

He had a purpose, he had a plan, he had allies. The end was in sight, if not quite in reach.

He could not play on two boards at once.

Claude paced.

No matter how carefully Byleth took steps to change or amend the creed of Seiros, even if her motions were presently only through the nobility and not the liturgy, there would always be adherents, opposition -fanatics.

The Western Church had always been prepared for violence. Poison was outside their usual remit though.

A poison designed to disrupt a heartbeat wouldn't kill one who essentially had a God-Heart. _They_ ought to know that by now, so if not them, then…

It was almost as if someone was testing her defences, sending a message, or confirming a theory –and this was not the board he should be playing on just now!

Claude paced.

He had a purpose, he had a plan, he had allies.

He was almost there!

He, indeed _they_, could gain nothing from him rushing to her side now; the attack had already happened.

He stopped, buried his face in his hands and wished, pleaded, begged and prayed, to any force, power or God that may be listening to intercede where he could not.

*.*

Intervention, whether divinely ordained or not, came in the form of Ferdinand von Aegir.

"Really, I must insist. At this point _not_ returning to Derdriu is the weaker move. It gives the appearance of reckless disregard. Those houses that have not yet turned over their relics can as easily hold them or send them to you at Derdriu while procedures here are reviewed. How many times has the Monastery been infiltrated now?"

"Eight in the past decade"

"…I had not actually thought it so many."

"That I'm aware of there was; Solon, Jeritza, Edelgard and Hubert I count as one, the Western Church, Kronya, Thales, the spy who put the Dukedom on to our manoeuvre at Ailell and then this."

"And what benefit is there to you lingering in a location that has been so compromised?"

"None that would lend themselves to unravelling this plot." Byleth admitted, subsiding back into the sofa, teacup set aside for the moment "Seteth and Alois have that in hand -but countless that aid me in leading the Church. I had intended to return to Derdriu two moons hence, not before."

Ferdinand hummed and paced about his side of the table as he thought, gradually lengthening his circuit until he was almost pacing the length of the advisory room. He came to a halt in front of the only change she'd made in the time since her coronation -the portrait Ignatz had sent her. A full length study of herself and Claude gazing out to the distance from the shade of an oak of some significance, he'd titled it "The Wind and the Trees" and included a note on the provenance of the name in the parcel. If she could ever get hold of him, she was determined to ensure he gave over any pretence of making his living as a knight and focus on art instead –assuming Lorenz, or anybody with a degree of sense, hadn't already commissioned him to the same purpose.

Ferdinand's eyes lingered for a long moment on the banner of the Alliance across Claude's painted shoulder as he gathered his thoughts before turning back to her.

"Have you considered leading from the Eastern Church?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Eastern Church was not dragged into any of the conflicts during the war. Nor have they ever challenged the Central Church's governing. You are undisputedly their head. It should be as easy to lead the Faithful from there as from here. You would only need to visit Garreg Mach for some of the larger festivals. Indeed, you _should_ be able to lead from any of the branches –although perhaps the less said about the Western, the better. Are you perhaps avoiding Derdriu?"

Was she? It was possible. Despite all the time that they had spent together in the Monastery, it was Derdriu that had somehow become _Claude's_ place to her mind. It was so much more notable that he _wasn't_ _there_, when at Garreg Mach she could perhaps convince herself that he must just be in the library, or aimlessly wandering the grounds.

Perhaps she was simply not as reconciled to the move as she had thought.

She opened her mouth to admit at much when a distant sound distracted her; "Ferdinand –Why can I hear yelling?"

"Ah. I brought Caspar along with me."

"Caspar?"

"Yes, he was beginning to get under his Lord Brother's feet at home. I thought an excursion might be to everyone's benefit."

Byleth couldn't help but smile "Let me guess; he's mortally offended that I was hurt and we've not caught the perpetrator –and so he's taking the guard to task?"

"Something along those lines. Protecting you is a duty any Noble would take seriously."

Byleth drained the last of her tea and stood "Then I shall take your advice. When I return in a month or so I expect even the squires will be trained to perfection."

*.*

Claude was not in the habit of underestimating himself, which was why this had come as such a surprise.

They were making _him_ King.

He had considered and dismissed this option almost as soon as he'd begun forming his plans. This hadn't been his intention, and was probably going to cause him a lot of strife in future.

And yet… he'd already accepted that it was going to cause him strife; in his mind he'd already accepted the position. He couldn't **not** accept it –there were too many benefits, too much he would have the authority to bring about. So much _good_ he could do for his homeland.

But, as much as he loved the open skies, meadows, plains, festivals, food and traditions of Almyra –it wasn't the only place he called "home" anymore. Almyra didn't have Byleth; couldn't have her.

Could he, could they, do both? Would it be fair? Fódlan was always going to be the "problem child" –with a strong Regent here it _should _be possible to spend the majority of his time there. But would that be best for Almyra? In the long run would that even be best for Fódlan?

He truly believed that together, he and Byleth could do anything, but if it came to it at least there were options for him to abdicate to…

He would accept the crown –he'd be a fool not to. As to _keeping_ it or not there was really only one sensible option;

He'd talk to his wife.

*.*

On the star terrace, all those months ago, Lorenz had handed her a cup, fetched his own and stood by her side facing east in the fading twilight.

Skilfully, with more finesse than she would ever possess, he had started a conversation and led it by turns through the work of the day and the plans for the next with such asides and tangents as seemed interesting or amusing.

And, once he was inside her guard, that was when the Master of Tea Etiquette introduced the topic that would surely draw a personal response.

"I imagine our erstwhile companion must be looking westward as surely as you gaze east."

"No," she had disagreed without thought, her usual reserve quite undone by the comforting scent of pine and the ritual of conversation over tea "if Claude has managed to bring himself to any sort of pause or rest, he would be stargazing."

Lorenz hummed and set his cup gently into the saucer without causing any sound –a talent Byleth had only managed seated at a table, not whilst needing to support the saucer herself "I suppose I am unaccustomed to thinking of him needing to work at anything –all those schemes seemed to come quite naturally."

"Then you ought, perhaps, have spent more time in the library and less evaluating potential wives while you were studying here."

"Perhaps" Lorenz conceded, the slightest of blushes for his former behaviour across his delicate features "Although I am unsure if any amount of time spent on the endeavour would give me a greater understanding of Claude von Riegan, if he did not wish it."

"That much is true" his Queen agreed, with something approaching a smile.

"And yet" he continued, taking her cup to refill and busying himself with that, carefully not looking directly at her "I understand enough to be certain that he would not have you melancholy."

The silence that followed held a hesitation that was palpable. From the very corner of his eye Lorenz caught the flash of an emerald as, without the cup to occupy her hand she brushed it instead over her ring. (And really, he ought to have a word with Claude about what was appropriate for nobles of their station; a gem twice as large again would not have been too much)

"Nor I him," she admitted at last, as Lorenz finished refilling the cups and returned to her side "although it is not entirely a matter that can be helped."

"No," Lorenz agreed "However, for his sake, if not your own, I would suggest that where it can be helped, you let it. You might, for instance, consider inviting a friend to tea rather than stare off gloomily into the distance when you find yourself with an evening to spare."

"Is a Queen allowed friends?" she asked with a sigh "Am I so easily read?"

"Nobody would gainsay her" Lorenz assured, dismissing the second question out of hand "and if that turns out inadvisable then certainly no-one would object to a former professor socializing with _her_ friends."

It meant something, something small but vastly important, that he identified them as friends and not merely former students.

"Thank you, Lorenz" she replied, although from the pride and satisfaction that took up residence on his face he had clearly interpreted it as something more along the lines of "_You are a Rose amongst even the Nobility, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, how would I ever do without your support?_"

The silence drifted comfortably around them until; "Why haven't you married, Lorenz?"

"Because I've not asked her yet." He replied simply, as if that was the only possible impediment.

On reflection, perhaps it was.

*.*

The first strike was so swift and so brutal that they hadn't had word of it until an entire day had passed. It was only once the forests started catching fire that the messengers got through; an army had appeared in Ordelia territory and was cutting its way through Gloucester towards them, razing everything they passed. By the time she was able to bring the soldiers of House Riegan down to reinforce Lorenz, they'd lost several villages and homesteads.

And of course, they weren't cutting over the same ground Nemesis had already scarred; this was a new wound.

When she joined Lorenz at the front, she was entirely disconcerted to hear him _growling_ at the sight of their opponents. Following his gaze, she discovered why; one of their standards had been adorned with the mangled corpse of a Golden Deer, the magnificent creature hacked open and trailing flesh and skin, only one antler, longer than her entire arm span, remaining.

Nobody in Leicester would stand for such a thing. She only had to nod to the nearest sniper and the standard bearer fell. There was clearly no wish to parley.

*.*

A heartbeat ago, or so it seemed, it had surprised him to realise that he had all but forgotten the Professor's history as a mercenary. She acted so _respectably,_ was so kind and _polite_ even though she'd allowed them all to treat her informally that, although he knew where her battle skills had been learned and honed, he'd disregarded what that _meant_.

Seeing her knock back a measure that would likely have downed Raphael on a full stomach brought it all back to the forefront. Claude could, and would, wassail with the best of them, but he had secrets to keep, schemes to dream, and preferred his faculties largely unimpeded, and so he cut himself off earlier than the majority of his dining partners might guess. Judging by the debris arranged between the Professor and Catherine, he was surprised neither of them was slumped across the table.

Unless he'd missed his mark entirely on what spirit was in those particular non-descript bottles. Given that they were the ones that were usually A) kept on a high shelf under the constant eye of the head chef and B) had a habit of vanishing shortly before it was Seteth's turn to check inventory only to reappear thereafter, he didn't think he had. For all her poise and composure, Teach had been **raised** as a mercenary. Battlefield to battlefield –tavern to tavern. As for Catherine, well her jaunts down into the town were hardly a secret; still the number of discarded bottles across the table was impressive –and worrisome.

It was chance that had brought him here, not that eavesdropping was beneath him, far from; but he hadn't planned on it this evening. He'd needed a moment to clear his head and had only gone out to the gardens to stargaze for a bit before the cold drove him back inside. He could as easily have retraced his steps to return to the dormitory but thought it better to take advantage of the warmth of the entrance and dining halls.

Although he hadn't quite made it to the dining hall. A glimpse through the doorway from the entrance hall of the Professor, Catherine and Alois arranged around a table; as far from the kitchen and the few night-workers as they could get while still basking in the warmth of the ovens, with maps, charts and rosters spread out between them had brought him to a halt.

"If only the Southern Church wasn't gone. We could have used a foothold close by Enbarr" Alois mused

"Ha! If we're dreaming of possibilities you might have wished for something more recent." Said Catherine, pouring another measure for herself and the Professor; Alois seemed to be nursing something different –was that warm milk? "You'd have had better luck allying with the Western Church again, the faithful of Adrestia have been largely overseen between us lately."

"It would be best to give up any notion of Knights or Faithful assisting us in the Empire" added the Professor, sipping this round instead of tossing it back "In the best case, the majority will have to go into hiding, or flee."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Alois grumbled "Where does that leave us then?"

"Waiting for Shamir, when she gets back we'll know exactly where the Imperial army is to strike at them!"

The Professor put her glass down with a sharp clink "When Shamir gets back all we'll learn is how soon _they'll_ strike _here_. We should be fortifying already."

"You can't really believe that?" Alois asked with some surprise "It's not so easy to get an army to Garreg Mach. Not from the Empire at any rate."

"Five years ago, when their only viable option would be to take the Bridge of Myrddin, and force their way through Leicester, that may have been true. The Knights of Seiros could have held them off indefinitely with minimal troops and not even need to ask the Alliance Lords for aid. Even one year ago we might have made a stand at the Kingdom border with better-than-even odds. But now? The Western Church is in shambles, Gaspard is notably short on leadership, soldiers and militia, the main strength of the Kingdom, Gautier and Fraldarius, are too far away and too busy with the local banditry to give aid swiftly. With the state of the Kingdom as it is now you don't even need to _take_ Arianrhod immediately –just leave a contingent to besiege it and go around… Without any additional measures you could get a sizeable force from Enbarr to the Monastery within a month, and I assure you, the Flame Emperor _has_ additional measures."

Silence fell across the table, broken only by the Professor pouring herself another drink and topping off Catherine's. Claude held his breath as he marvelled over how grim the situation was –and how closely Teach's assessment mirrored his own.

"You know, usually after bluntly spelling out our doom, the Captain would make a joke to relieve the tension. You've certainly got the doom-saying part down, but you could stand to work a bit more on the bolstering morale part."

Catherine laughed "I think that may be a bit beyond our Professor."

"If I believed for a moment that either of you were capable of losing morale I would at least make the attempt."

The Professor's rejoinder came swiftly enough, and was met by further ribaldry (rather proving her point), but to Claude's ear it sounded subdued. She had shrunk into herself since Jeralt was mentioned and the storm he'd thought had passed was back in her eyes.

Had she been hiding it? That was-

That was what _he_ had told her to do. After Remire, and again when she'd finally come out of seclusion. "Keep marching forward", "Show them you're in good spirits" he hadn't meant for her to hide it from _him_, to bear it all on her own –weren't they friends?

Perhaps not from her perspective.

It was difficult these days to imagine that future he wanted to see without her presence in it; at his side and revelling in (or at least _smiling_ at) the world they'd built.

Perhaps it was time to put that card on the table. Openly tell her that not only was she indispensable but that she'd won over his friendship, and he wanted her around for the foreseeable future purely on that basis. That he would like to support _her_ as much as she had supported _him._

Perhaps –they were about to notice him lingering.

Thinking quickly, he threw his shoulders back, chin up and strode through the door, greeting Alois with a smile and the ladies with a wink; deflection and distraction had always been his talents.

Far better, he concluded, to take the reprimand for being out late than the punishment for spying.

*.*

The second strike might have been more effective if she hadn't seen Shambhala before. Still, the sight of an entire squadron of Titanus was demoralizing for the majority of her forces.

They must have a power source. If they could destroy that, the Titanus would be rendered little more than statues. The only problem was the army between her and their supply train –if she could even risk a scout to _find _it.

*.*

"Lorenz, fall back."

"Professor!" The order was so surprising, so contrary to what he expected that the appellation was startled out of him as if they were indeed back at the academy and not facing this… nightmare.

"Look _behind_ us Lorenz. The mages are embattled; I need them freed to take out the shields of that titan on the right. The east flank is only holding through Holst's prowess, the west is all but collapsed, I need them now or it will be a rout; you must go and you must be quick about it."

Lorenz reeled his horse around, but did not charge off "And you?"

"I shall buy time."

"Majesty-"

"None of that, Lorenz."

The horse shifted restlessly under him, but Lorenz quelled it masterfully and the moment, which felt far too much like a "goodbye" for comfort stretched on.

"I do wish you had brought your sword." He said at last, not meaning the silver blade she was presently flicking blood from.

"If you must spend your time wishing instead of acting" she chided "wish instead that I can come up with a scheme worthy of the Master Tactician."

Lorenz rode off to the rescue of the mage battalions, and Byleth faced the opponents arranged before her, considering the line she would have to hold alone until her reinforcements could come. "_Less than a child,_" her thoughts ran "_a boulder than can only charge downhill. Oh Sothis, what else can I do?_"

*.*

In Almyra it wasn't called the "Blue Sea Star", it was the "Traveller's Star" and rather than being blessed by the fortune of the Goddess, those born in the month it appeared were said to be fated to long journeys, or suffer from wanderlust.

Claude didn't believe either of those fortunes; or any of them actually, although they certainly appeared to be true enough in his case. He did have a lot of travel under his belt and he'd probably had more than his share of good luck.

Considering the distances involved, the lack of any **formal** lines of communication and the fact that he could have been anywhere in the country it was more than just brilliant planning on her part that the parcel from Byleth reached him in the _month_ of his birthday, let alone the _week_ of it (his own gift to her had been arranged in Derdriu shortly after he'd made his farewell on his way to the border).

News of his wife! From her very hand! For three days nothing could touch him. For three days he floated through meetings and preparations and watched as his dream grew ever closer to fruition. For three days his good cheer was unassailable.

Then, on his actual birthday, his spymaster delivered the report that sent it all crashing down around him in two words;

"Shambhala marches"

*.*

The third strike came the next day, hard on the news that they'd had to pull back from Sauin village. She was some way from the front, trying to catch what rest she could –but apparently Those that Slither in the Dark had decided to make a start for the day even before dawn broke. As she read the report Byleth muttered some of the choice phrases she'd learned from the sailors all those years ago as it broke upon her how entirely unprepared they were for this fight.

Setting aside his own report, Lorenz looked at her askance "I'm not sure what any of that meant but I assume I should be offended?"

Instead of answering him, she called for the fastest messengers they had on hand and started pulling paper and ink towards her.

"How much farmland –how much hunting ground, do you think we've lost, Lorenz?"

"Too much." Was his short answer "Even if the fight ends now the region will have to import more than we ever have; we were just on the line of sufficiency after Nemesis' attack. With the deliberate burning of field and forests as well, it will be years before we can return to the usual practice. We are fortunate that the harbours are so removed from the fighting."

"A secondary force has marched out of Hrym against Grondor."

Lorenz paled "Well that is… Disastrous."

The messengers arrived and she handed over the first of her missives "To Gautier, as fast as you can go, do not stop for anyone." The messenger saluted and hurried off and she turned to the other "To Varley. You put this directly into Bernadetta's hand, do whatever you must to get her out of hibernation and stay with her until she reaches Duke Aegir, bring back whatever update he has for me."

"Gautier?" Lorenz questioned as the second messenger sprang away and they began pulling their gear together to return to the front, war council effectively over.

"Fastest knights in the land; so long as we hold the front Sylvain will get them to Myrddin within a day. And he'll alert Rodrigue on his way past, to reinforce us."

"Would it not be better to send them here? Rout this foe and then march all of us across to Grondor?"

"We can't risk them gaining any ground across the river. If they start burning Grondor… all those years of war haven't left us with much by way of long term provisions. Tailtean is about supporting itself but no extra. If we can't save Grondor then even victory will just mean a slower death. I'm tempted to have you send the troops your Father annexed from Acheron across as well."

"That would leave us with very little leeway to rest our forces."

"If I had rebuilt Fort Merceus-"

"Hold. It will do us no good to engage in "what-ifs". Merceus was by no means a priority, nor even feasible; you did the best that could be done, reclaiming the stone to rebuild and resettle elsewhere. Many of the commonfolk would have nowhere to live had you not."

"It feels as if this attack plays against all the decisions I've made; had I given Hanneman the resources to start excavating-"

"Then we would likely have lost Hanneman and the progress he's made this past year. Nothing could have prepared us for this. Even so, I am confident that you will pull us through. That said, I might wish that you don't show this concerned face to our comrades."

"You're right, of course. You had best relieve Holst, I'll take the centre line. And, Lorenz; live."

Lorenz nodded sharply and took off to find his mount. Byleth took a moment longer to breathe and clear her mind of all but the fight in front of her before striding out to meet it.

That day, it began to be whispered that the Ashen Demon walked Fódlan once more.

*.*

A heartbeat ago, or so it seemed, he had promised that when next they saw each other it would be at the start of their brilliant, happy, peaceful world. Her face was pressed against his neck and he bent himself to the task of memorising the feeling of her hair against his cheek, the light grip of her hand on his shoulder.

It was far too soon when she pulled away, but he forgave it immediately when from a pocket she produced her own ring, held out to him in her palm.

"I-is there…" she began haltingly, still trying to master her emotions and he understood her completely. Even he was split, half of him exultant and half in agony. "is there any tradition of yours that…"

"No" he breathed, pulling her close again and resting their foreheads together, keeping contact as he tugged his glove off "No, this is perfect."

"Then… Claude of House Riegan; I name you Husband." The ring, obviously an heirloom, didn't quite fit the traditional finger, but sat snugly and comfortably enough on his pinky. As soon as it was settled he caught her hand to complete the act

"Byleth of the Eisner family; I name you Wife."

Her smile was so full of love and heartbreak that he almost wished he hadn't learnt to read her so well -that he couldn't so clearly see the tears in her eyes that ought to have been from joy alone.

He pulled her back against him, as much to hide his own tears as hers, and sought for any levity he could bring them. "I did imagine, that when I married, there would be a grand feast. The sort songs are made about."

"I expect I'll be forced to one later anyway" she answered, muffled from somewhere down by his collarbone "I'll enjoy it immensely while you're getting saddle-sore."

A chuckle escaped him before he could check it "Oh, the first half hour, when you can stuff your face, certainly." He winked automatically, even if she couldn't see it he had a feeling she'd know regardless. "But after that, you'll be looking for an escape from all those well-wishers. At that point you'd likely prefer the saddle yourself."

"Yes" she admitted, and suddenly it was too much to imagine her day without him there to ease it, to imagine his own without the absolute assurance of _her_ to keep him going. He loosed his grip enough to tilt her chin up and bent his head to meet her lips, pouring everything he had into their kiss.

Everything he had to keep it going. To delay his departure one second longer. To keep this wonderful, exquisite, heart-rending moment from concluding.

*.*

Byleth was fighting a retreat, balancing on the very fine line between strategy and panic. Doing just enough to keep the line and buy time.

Every bloody inch the enemy advanced was an inch closer to the people at her back. Her people. She'd sent orders back up the line for Judith to fortify Derdriu as best she could. For the villages in between to evacuate to Garreg Mach or Fódlan's Throat; or even through Daphnel to house Galatea if they could face Ailell.

And yet if she did not fall back, inch by blood soaked inch, the price would be the comrades at her side. Also her people.

War had been a lot simpler when she hadn't been responsible for _everyone_.

A company of mercenaries, who even now still named themselves after the Blade Breaker, who had been loyal to the Ashen Demon long before she ever set foot in a monastery, had gone ahead to the next village to ensure the evacuation and start forming what pits and traps and choke holds they could. It was the best she could hope for, to lure the enemy in where she had a defensible position and try to whittle out the numbers. She just had to keep buying time until they were ready.

Cornelia used her 'dolls' well.

There were six of them that she could still see, though in her head she counted four more that had fallen back –for repair? For a charge? They guarded the flanks of the column, preventing her from sending any force around to strike at the sides or back of the encroaching army. Sometimes they would storm up in a pair or triad and force Byleth to move the line back, a hundred yards, two hundred-

More than she could afford to give.

Then there was Cornelia herself.

She had underestimated that Lady.

But she had to keep buying time; even at the risk of herself.

*.*

Claude hadn't realised a wyvern was capable of flying as fast as he was until this very moment. The great white Wyvern Bull that had been gifted to him by Nader was cutting through the air at least a league ahead of his vanguard.

And yet it could never be fast enough. He needed to already **be** there, but had to keep pace with the rest of his forces –had to keep slowing to help them navigate.

It was as well he did, or he might have blown past the Locket entirely –and Hilda signalling him from the tallest tower. Hilda! News!

Banking in, he guided his mount in several wide circles to shed speed as they descended to the ramparts. The very moment they made contact he leapt from the saddle. Hilda was already there, catching the bridle and tussling the affectionate creature's antlers to soothe him.

"Your brother-" Claude began immediately, in no mood for greetings and politesse. Thankfully, Hilda was remarkably efficient in getting _other people_ what they needed to work and took over;

"Took to the field, I hold the Locket."

"Garreg Mach-"

"Untouched." That should have been a relief, but something in the way Hilda was holding herself told him it wasn't. "How much do you know already?"

"Little enough; A significant force has slithered out of Shambhala and marched against Fódlan."

Hilda nodded "They appeared first in Ordelia territory, we think they must have tunnelled in from beneath Hrym… Lorenz formed up immediately and Ferdinand was sending support over the bridge… only they didn't go west."

"North, then" Claude surmised and Hilda nodded in affirmation "Derdriu?"

"Probably their intention. The last update I had we'd managed to form a line at the border of Gloucester and Riegan."

"Their forces?"

"You remember the constructs we fought underground?"

"Difficult to forget."

"A woman from the old Kingdom, Cornelia, controls them. She was the one in charge of the 'Faerghus Dukedom', but disappeared… there are a lot of them, and other troops besides. All the towns they've passed are…" Hilda shivered and looked away, which more than anything else gave Claude an idea of the full scale of the destruction that had been wrought.

"Holst hasn't fought them before –but the principle is the same as any other monster; I'm sure-"

Hilda shook her head "My brother isn't in command."

Claude closed his eyes and let his breath hiss out between his teeth "Of course she would." His eyes opened again to give Hilda a pleading glance even though he knew he wouldn't hear anything he liked "She's even leading from the front line isn't she? She's not like Rhea, who can hold a position and let herself be protected… Only it'll be worse; she'll be deliberately making herself a target so the towns can evacuate. You'll be receiving refugees here soon."

Hilda nodded, then smiled sadly "It's worse even than that."

If ever there were words to chill him, it was those. He almost couldn't bring himself to ask; "What else?"

"Ferdinand had to turn back. A second attack, the remains of the Empire, came out of Hrym. They're led by –by the Death Knight."

"Well that's just brilliant." He replied, barely suppressing a much more colourful response "How old is your information?"

"A day, perhaps more."

"Too long, I need –agh, give me a moment to think here."

Hilda went back to fussing over the wyvern and Claude ran a hand through his hair, pressing his head into it as he thought. The wingbeats of his first wave of riders became audible over the wind at the top of the tower and gave him pause; the wyvern riders were here and the cavalry would only be a short way behind them. The situation was worse than he'd thought it could be, but he hadn't exactly turned up unprepared either. Perhaps… perhaps the simplest strategy could be the most effective? If they could pass through Goneril and into Ordelia then…

"Hilda, I have a request." This wasn't how he'd envisaged this moment. It shouldn't be Hilda he made this request of and it shouldn't have been a war band at his back and yet… well, it was what it was, no point in dreaming of what-ifs "Will you open the Locket for me?"

"If you have a plan to rescue the Professor and win this Claude, then I'm in! Consider it done."

*.*

She could see Derdriu.

She hadn't had word of Lorenz in about twelve hours –nor from Holst in over four. The village her mercenary forces had dug out seemed to be years ago. Her blade had broken –was it yesterday? - and she was relying on magic and snatched half-hours of rest.

None of her scouts or saboteurs had returned and the Titanus kept marching.

The arrival of troops from Fraldarius had given her enough time to order Derdriu completely evacuated, the people who had remained shipped up to Edmund's port. One more push from the enemy and she'd have to pull within the capital's walls.

Byleth seriously considered if giving herself up would stop the Agarthans.

She doubted it; the attack here may ultimately seek her destruction, but the attack on Grondor was against everyone of Fódlan. Her death would stop nothing.

She just had to buy time until… until…

Until she could fight no more. She had no cards left to play.

*.*

Lysithea in all her glory was a force of nature; great and terrible.

She moved in a fluid, rotating pattern, shifting with the tide of battle around her; in one moment at the front to devastate the attackers that had dared encroach on her people. In another, she had fallen back behind the line to push a child or elder through the weft of space and time, away from the field as the evacuation continued.

Claude remembered discussing such tactics with her, once upon a time when the world, and their battles, were a lot smaller –and much more hypothetical. He couldn't help but feel proud of her.

Couldn't help tweaking her as he flew by either, sending an arrow through an opponent they both knew she could handle perfectly well herself.

"You're late!" She called after him "And I don't need a babysitter! Get yourself to the front!"

Some things did not change, it seemed.

It gave him hope.

*.*

A lifetime ago, or so it felt, she had stood at the edge of a crowd fully aware of the crush of bodies around her, the eyes on her, the expectations swirling around the hall. She hadn't touched the champagne; quite honestly she had wanted a drink, but was afraid of giving herself away by fiddling with the stem of the glass. Instead she had watched the dancers, allowed the picturesque to soothe her, and would have been content to remain there wall-flowering all night.

But then Claude had wended his way to her. A ball or a feast was a playground to him, where he could bend the ear of anyone he liked and track the progress of various rumours through the differing factions in the room, pushing and pulling them to his own ends with a charming smile.

Instead, he had winked, and then by some devious magic pulled her onto the floor and into a bubble where only they two existed. The crush of bodies disappeared, other eyes couldn't touch her; she could only be aware of his.

She could have sworn, then, that his smile had reached them, been fully genuine. Looking back, it seemed likely, as by that time they had made the promise of reunion –was he already calling her "friend" in his head? Did he already see more value to her presence at his side than as a tool; the means by which he might control the Sword of the Creator?

The dance floor was no place for meaningful conversation of course, but he had said enough to tease responses from her. He must have made her smile, and she had never quite forgiven him for it, as he had made her accessible to every invitation that had come thereafter.

She could spend a lifetime trying to figure out if that had been his intention. Or if he'd had some other agenda. Or any agenda at all.

She preferred the conclusion that he had actually just wanted to dance with her. Even then.

*.*

It should have been a skirmish like any other. Like a thousand she had won before. Two warriors, hardly worth remembering in a battle like this one. The first hadn't gotten anywhere near and she wondered, not for the first time, if her knack for white magic was _hers_ or another gift from Sothis.

She brought up the dagger sheathed at her hip to parry the shortaxe the second warrior sent spinning her way, then dodged out of his range before he could follow through.

Cornelia struck.

Thoron, it turned out, hurt beyond imagining.

It shouldn't have been possible. Either the woman had a very impressive range or she'd moved up for this engagement. Byleth couldn't tell; every nerve was on fire. She didn't scream, the Ashen Demon would only grit her teeth, but she could barely keep her feet, the dagger slipped from her numb fingers, point down into the dirt. The warrior squared up for his next strike.

He knew his business. Had the warrior been one of her students she would have been proud; his form was faultless, grip perfect. As he brought his arm down she could read in his stance the exact point of release, could count the number of rotations before the axe would take her neck.

Even as her body twitched through the last spasms of the Thoron, Byleth forced herself not to blink, her watering eyes trained on the warrior so she could read every motion and choose the best moment, already trying to plan how she would avoid this outcome next time.

If she could.

Thales had countered her.

Once.

There hadn't been such a situation, that she couldn't overcome, since.

But it had been enough to learn the most painful lesson; some things were fated. Some lives could not be saved. No matter how she struggled, she could never account for _all_ outcomes. Some choices had been made long before the reach of her power; and Cornelia had been hidden from her for _years_.

Within herself she reached for the hands of time. The warrior's throw reached the point of release.

The arrow that pierced his hand and burrowed into the shaft of the axe, arresting its flight, surprised her even more than it did the warrior.

Her hyper-focus on the warrior released, she finally caught the sound of war cries, cheers and wingbeats, and then; Yellow. The swooping sensation of flying. The scent of pine and old maps and leather (and the unfortunate tang of wyvern). A gentle touch to tilt her chin. The soft rasp of a beard on her cheek. A kiss like warm honey spreading through her.

A miracle.

Time well spent.

*.*

"Twelve battalions of the best wyvern riders in Almyra have circled around to engage the rear-guard and sever the supply train. Cavalry, mostly bow knights, three-score of them if Hilda hasn't kept any back, will be reinforcing from the east in a moment; My battalion and I are perhaps five minutes ahead of them, if you form up now, and start the charge, we'll have them between us."

"A hammer and anvil? No poison? No fire strike you've not told me the boundaries of ahead of time? No masquerading your forces as something less threatening? Did you at least lay down tangling wires on your charge to the front? No? You're slipping, Husband."

"Forgive me Love, it was all I could manage from a country away with no warning."

*.*

The wyvern looped gracefully back to reform the line with them at the centre. Before they had fully set down a wave of magic washed lazily through her, chasing off the last stings of injury. Byleth couldn't help smiling; only Lindhart could make magic feel that way, and if **he** was **here** then Ferdinand must have finished his own battles –or nearly so, and sent aid ahead, shoring up her western flank.

She climbed to her feet, balancing at the edge of the saddle, Claude supporting her all the while, not once letting contact drop between them. She stood tall, raised her arm and, in a voice that would do Margrave Edmund proud, in two words turned the tide of the battle;

"Fódlan!" she rallied her people, calling them all to her and then dropped her arm "Forward!"

*.*

After, when it was finally over, as reports began arriving, they pitched a hasty camp so the reports would have somewhere _to_ arrive. Claude lifted her from the wyvern but took not another step; instead resting his back against the beast's flank and sliding to the ground with her held firmly in his lap, head resting under his chin.

Lorenz was first to approach and raised an elegant eyebrow at them, a glimmer of faux disapproval on his expression -a jest at his own former animosity, given away by both his smirk and Claude's answering winsome smile.

"I assure you Majesty," he began "if this is how they are answered; I shall make no further wishes."

Byleth, secure in her husband's arms, tipped back her head and _laughed_.

*.*

A heartbeat later, after a lifetime, they stood at the edge of a market together, watching; a gryphon rider from Albenia was hawking bundles of feathers as superior fletching, a child from Sreng caused her parents no end of consternation as she reached her chubby hands for _every_ sparkly Almyran crystal on a merchant's display, a noble from the northern part of Fódlan, sweltering under his furs, was trying to buy out a weaver from Brigid, there were three separate stands of Duscur cuisine and Anna's ageless smile was growing brighter by the second.

Claude pulled his wife against him and kissed the top of her head "Thank you, for walking this road with me." Byleth leant into his embrace, eyes dancing over the people before them for several long moments more before making a reply;

"There's one thing lacking with this dream of yours, my love."

"What would that be?" He asked, wondering idly if this was her building up to revealing she was pregnant, or perhaps that she'd convinced Lorenz and Seteth to stand in for her long enough that they could take an extended trip together to finally introduce her to his parents, or some other surprise entirely –hopefully a feast.

Instead, she squirmed out of his hold, reached out her hand to him and _winked_

"You don't really intend to only _look_ at it, do you?"

Conclusion


End file.
